Five unlikely friendships on the Destiny
by Shenandoah Risu
Summary: They have only one thing in common, but for a friendship, that's all it takes. Rush, Becker, Young, Dunning, Chloe, Camile, TJ, Morrison, Ginn, Brody.


**Title: Five unlikely friendships on the Destiny  
Author: Shenandoah Risu  
Rating: **PG-13**  
Content Flags:** talk of haggis, feet, jobs, flowers and booze**  
Characters: **Rush/ Becker, Young/ Dunning, Camile/ Chloe, TJ/ Morrison, Ginn/ Brody**  
Word Count: **1,507**  
Summary: **They only have one thing in common, but for a friendship, that's all it takes.**  
Author's Notes: **Written for prompt set #154 at sg1_five_things.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own SGU. I wouldn't know what to do with it. Now, Young... Young I'd know what to do with.** ;-)  
Thanks for reading! Feedback = Love. ;-)  
**

**oOo**

**Five unlikely friendships on the Destiny**

"I didn't see you at dinner, Dr. Rush, so I thought I'd bring over your rations."

"You seriously have nothing better to do than to hunt me down to make sure I eat my dinner?"

Becker shakes his head. "That has nothing to do with it, Sir. It's my job to feed this crew and to make sure that everyone gets their fair share. Whether or not you eat it is none of my business."

He sets down the bowl and turns away. "Just please, don't let it go to waste," he adds on his way out. "There are plenty of hungry people on this ship who would gladly eat your share."

Rush is about to let rip with another scathing remark when he notices Becker's slouched retreat.

"I'm sorry," he says, as Becker stops dead in his tracks.

"Look, I know it's not your fault that this memory bank is giving me conniption fits. I shouldn't have said that."

Becker looks at him in confusion. "Okay…"

Rush gestures at a bench and goes to retrieve his bowl, then sits down next to Becker.

"What is this?"

"It's baked potatoes with tomato-basil sauce."

"These things?" Rush pokes at the lumps in his bowl.

"They're purple," Becker reminds him. "I know, purple and red don't go so well together."

Rush sniffs at the bowl. "The basil's a nice touch."

"Isn't it, though? It's not regular basil, either. For some reason the kind they packed here is the purple-leaf variety."

Rush chuckles. "Premonition?"

"Could be," Becker shrugs. "But the purple leaf kind tends to be hardier, so that may have something to do with it." He hands him a fork and Rush digs in.

"Well, it's not my mama's haggis, but it's rather good."

"Haggis? Isn't that the thing cooked in a stomach?"

And before they know it they have passed over an hour talking about Scottish dishes and how to possibly adapt them to Destiny's fare.

Rush never misses a meal again after that.

**oOo**

Colonel Young and Airman Dunning have only one thing in common: they both have two different size feet. Every few weeks they seem to run into each other in one of the storage rooms, pilfering a few styrofoam peanuts from one of the packing crates to stuff their ill-fitting boots.

Young nods at him and Dunning grins, holding up his three peanuts.

"How many sizes?" Young asks as he sticks his hand into the crate.

"One," Dunning mutters. "Almost one and a half."

Young sighs. "Yeah, me too."

"Which foot, Sir?"

"Right one's bigger."

"My left one's the big one."

"What size do you wear?"

"Ten, Sir."

"Really? Me too."

Dunning chuckles. "We got a matching set of mismatched feet."

"So it would appear," Young drawls, then suddenly frowns.

"Gorman wore size nines."

Dunning's head snaps up. "He did?"

They stare at each other. Then Young tilts his head towards the hatch. "Let's go."

Minutes later the armory no longer contains a spare pair of size nine combat boots. In their place there is now a pair of size tens.

Young and Dunning walk down the corridor with huge grins on their faces. They have only one thing in common, but for a friendship, that's all it takes.

Nobody can quite figure out why those two keep surreptitiously kicking each other's feet.

**oOo**

"Chloe, are you all right?"

Chloe quickly pulls down her pant leg. "Yes, I'm fine. Just a little paranoid, I guess."

Camile sits down next to her. "Paranoid about what?"

Chloe gestures at her leg. "That the alien growth might come back. That whatever they did to take it out didn't work. I have nightmares about it, you know."

"But TJ gave you a clean bill of health."

"Yes, so did Dr. Brightman. I know, I saw the test results. Still…"

"I can't even begin to imagine what you're been through."

"As much as anyone else on this ship, I guess," Chloe shrugs.

Camile nods. "I guess you're right. Not everybody has been taken over by an alien creature, but nobody's had it easy."

"If you had told me a couple of years ago I'd survive something like this I would have laughed you in the face. But you know what, I was just thinking the other day… when I was younger I always wanted to be a space ambassador for an alien planet."

"How come?"

"Well, I guess I always saw my parents rubbing elbows with dignitaries from other cultures, and you know, when you grow up with this sort of thing it becomes normal. But I wanted to do more than my parents, so I figured being an ambassador for Planet Zorg would be pretty cool."

Camile laughs. "I guess when you look at it that way…"

"What about you? What did you want to be when you were a little girl?"

"Hmmm, let me think. I wanted to be a teacher, and a boss, and a TV chef, and an explorer…"

"Two out of four is pretty good."

"I suppose. I never thought about HR, though."

"What little girl does?"

Camile nods. "You're right. I just wish…"

After a short while of silence Chloe takes her hand. "If you ever manage to get Sharon up here to the Destiny, I'd be happy to trade places with her via the Stones."

And Camile doesn't know what to say to that, and so they just sit there quietly, holding hands.

**oOo**

TJ's mood sinks as she notices Dr. Morrison sneaking into the infirmary. If there's one guy she really doesn't want to see towards the end of a long day, it's Destiny's resident hypochondriac and general grouch. She heaves a big sigh and forces a smile.

"Dr. Morrison – what can I do for you?"

"Nothing, for a change," Morrison grumbles and holds up a heavily used Ziploc bag filled with leaves. "General James ordered me to deliver these to you."

TJ snickers and takes the bag from him. "_General_ James?"

Morrison nods and plops down in a chair. "Might as well be," he sighs. "Bodily harm was indicated, so here I am."

"Well, thank you, especially since the delivery was made under extreme duress," TJ quips and opens the bag. Morrison doesn't leave and after a while she looks up at him.

"Something else?"

Morrison blushes violently. "Yeah, I guess…"

TJ motions at him to go on.

"I, uh… brought you this," Morrison mumbles and holds up a small yellow flower.

"What is it?"

"I don't know, I'm not a plant guy. I just thought it was pretty. I picked it up planet-side today. Here."

He hands it to her and she takes it, hesitating.

"I know I've been a major pain in the ass lately, and I'm sorry, and I know I don't deserve your kindness, or anyone else's for that matter, but you more than anyone, so I just wanted to apologize and I'll try to be a better patient in the future. When I'm a patient, that is."

And TJ's heart just melts, knowing how much it must have cost him to come to her.

"You're welcome, Dr. Morrison. No apologies needed, but I appreciate it, and thank you for the flower. I love it."

Morrison actually smiles. "I'm glad. You wouldn't happen to know if Gen- uh, Lt. James likes flowers, do you?"

And TJ gets it. "I hear she likes purple sweet potato blossoms. They look good in her hair."

Morrison's eyes light up and he beats a hasty retreat while TJ fills a small vial with water and puts the flower in. Poor Morrison – he sure picked the wrong woman on board. But who knows? Stranger pairs have worked out just fine.

**oOo**

Brody stares as Ginn knocks back her third shot of hooch.

She shakes herself like a wet dog.

"Wow, Mr. Brody, this stuff packs a mean punch."

Brody doesn't know what to say.

"What's wrong?"

"Uh… nothing… It's just that – well, most people can barely stomach one shot."

"Really?" Ginn wipes her nose and sniffles. "Wooo… my sinuses are all clear now."

"Really. How come you can suck this stuff down like that? And you're so tiny!"

"I am _not_ tiny," Ginn sits up straight. "I am _petite_."

Brody thinks hard. "All right," he concedes, "but you didn't answer my question."

Ginn waves him off. "Oh pshaw, where I come from they give that stuff to toddlers. You build up a pretty good tolerance over the years."

"Or liver failure."

"I bet you five strawberries that my liver is in better shape than yours."

Brody laughs. "All right, that may be true. So, what's it take to get you drunk?"

"I _am_ drunk."

"No, I mean for real."

"I _am_ drunk – rip-roaring, stinking, totally smashed."

"You don't look like it."

"Ah, you see, and therein lies the art."

Brody never manages to get Ginn to a point where he would call her drunk. But he sure enjoys her company, and she hangs out with him whenever Eli is busy elsewhere.

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_**Thanks for reading! A comment or feedback would be very much appreciated!**_

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PS: Last week's story was for The L.A. Complex, in case you were wondering. You can find it under that heading or in my general collection. A fully formatted version with artwork can be found at archiveofourown dot org (search for The Yukon Complex)


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